Everybody Wants to Rule the World
by Let's Waste Time
Summary: He was the second-in-line to the throne, and could do nothing but watch as the corrupt kingdom slowly fell apart. She was in the Revolution, struggling to prevent her guaranteed death. When he saves her from her execution, everything seems to shatter as secret intentions and dark histories collide. And when they fall for each other, there's certainly no going back.
1. Chapter 1

_You say you want a revolution _  
_Well, you know _  
_We all want to change the world. _  
_You tell me that it's evolution, _  
_Well, you know _  
_We all want to change the world. _  
_But when you talk about destruction, _  
_Don't you know you can count me out._

_-Revolution, the Beatles_

* * *

Chapter One

He had kingdoms in his mind.

He liked to think of it that way, at least. Like, the little voice he heard whenever he read or thought about something was the king, and there were all these little villages and realms. All these places yet to be discovered. Endless and infinite, and he could always keep it under control. His own, personal kingdom. There were no wars, and there was no poverty. It was a Utopia, and it was all his.

It was all in anticipation to his own rule.

This one, however, wasn't like the Utopia, so safe and comforting, that he had in his mind. This kingdom was ridiculed with sadness that hung like thick fog and people starving on the streets. When he ruled, he would change this. All of it. For the time being, he had no say in what went on, but when he took the throne, so much would change.

As his eyes skimmed the skyline from the balcony, he wondered what the people were feeling. How this kingdom treated them. He knew some got along perfectly well, but he also knew there were some starving on the streets, desperate to feed themselves and their families. It made him feel guilty, really, because here he was, standing on a balcony, in a palace, never been even hungry once in his life, while some people didn't even have a home.

Another thing he'd change, when he ruled.

Of course, his ruling wouldn't come until later, far later, maybe years in the future. He wasn't even next in line. His brother would rule before he did, and even then, his brother's rule probably wouldn't come for another ten or twenty years. His mother and father still had a while before his brother would take over, and his brother had a long time, too. His rule may not even come.

But one look at the tiny village in the distance, a small speck compared to it's surroundings, with people collapsing on the streets by the dozens, and he knew something had to change.

* * *

Rose Tyler was dying.

And it wasn't an exaggeration, either. She was, quite literally, dying.

She wished she was exaggerating, and that her protruding hipbones and sunken cheeks were all in her mind, not real, just stories. But, oh no, it was all there, along with her countable ribs and unbearably bony knees. She'd known it for a while. Rose was starving to death.

And she minded. A lot.

You see, Rose was never one to go down without a fight. No, she had far too much pride for that. The bones were motivation. Because there were others, getting yellower by the day, their skin leathery and their eyes dead, wishing for death to take them already. Rose wasn't quite there yet, but she would most definitely fight for the ones that were.

And she was fighting for it by sitting, slumped against a wall, in a room made of mud and grass, listening to the others babble about something pointless.

When her mother was executed four years ago, Rose knew it was time to join the Resistance. It didn't have an official name- some called it the Resistance, like Rose, some called it the Makers of a Revolution, some called it the Uprising, some called it an Organization for People With a Death Wish- but everyone knew what it was. Since she could remember, Rose had been taught to stay away from campaigners, steer clear of the members, and never utter a word of defiance. Death was assured anyways, but you may as well prolong it as long as you could. And joining the Resistance was the number one way to get you killed on-spot.

Her mother was never one to speak up, and neither was she. They blended in, following orders and keeping their opinions to themselves. Rose's father had died when she was younger due to an illness of some sort, so for her entire life, it was just the two of them; Rose and her mother. But they fell poor when her mother lost her job, and they couldn't pay the taxes. Rose was fifteen, and there wasn't much she could do to help. She tried so hard, but they both saw it coming.

Two men came into their house early in the morning. Rose's mother told her to hide, so she did. Sometimes, she thinks if she'd spoken up, or at least tried to do something, they would've spared her. Rose's entire life was led in silence, never taking opportunities and always hiding her emotions and feelings. It all came crashing down on her that day, all of the things she could've done differently. She heard a door shut, and, a few moments later, a gunshot.

Eleven people were killed that day. It could've very easily been twelve, if Rose hadn't hid. But it also very easily could've been none. If people took the time to voice themselves, try to do something instead of just standing there, being killed off slowly, uncared about and being ruled by an unjust kingdom, they could make a difference.

Rose realized something very important that day. She realized how angry she was, at herself for not trying hard enough, at her mother for giving up, and most importantly, at the rulers. And she knew what her options were. Sit forever with vengeance and hatred in her heart, like she'd done her entire life, or do something about it.

And she planned on doing it, too, when the rest of the group actually discussed something that wasn't completely outrageous.

"...but killing them would only gain enemies!" Mickey, a boy who had been like her brother since they were small, said. She could tell he felt strongly about this by the way he used his hands to talk. Harriet shook her head fiercely. Mickey and Rose liked Harriet, but she had a tendency to argue about everything there was to argue about. She had been in the Resistance for years now, and was a really friendly woman, despite her jarringly violet side that came out from time to time.

"No, killing them would give their army no reason to fight us! If they don't have anyone to defend, then why would they attack us?" Harriet argued. Rose wanted to butt in, and talk about short-term resolutions rather than ridiculous ones, but she kept her mouth shut. Of the seven of them, she'd been in the Resistance the shortest amount of time, and still felt slightly out-of-place in debates like this, with possibly the two most powerful people in the group going head-to- head. The only person who may have had the power to interject was Wilf, who'd founded this with a handful of others (all of which had passed on), but he didn't look too bothered by it. In fact, he looked slightly amused.

"Harriet, I'm telling you, this would be a mistake. We'd all get killed, and then some. Plus, assassinating the family would be useless, because they have back-ups. And their back-ups have back-ups. And I'm pretty sure even they have back-ups," Mickey shot back, and Harriet huffed.

"But maybe their back-ups would be a little bit more fit for the throne," she replied. Mickey rolled his eyes.

"No one in that line will ever be fit for the throne. The reason we started this damn thing is so we could get rid of the throne once and for-" Mickey's voice got progressively louder, and the entire group hushed him.

"Talk that loud, and you'll get us all killed!" Wilf's granddaughter, Donna, snapped. Mickey rolled his eyes.

"If you were worried about being killed, you wouldn't have showed up in the first place," he said, dismissively.

"Don't talk like that. None of us are going to get killed," Harriet murmured, and Rose almost laughed out loud. The Resistance as a whole had yet to be found out, but the numbers of people in it were getting killed more and more often. At the beginning of this year, they'd had at least thirty people, and now they were down to a sad and slightly pathetic seven.

"Rule number one of the Resistance: don't show up without knowing you could, and eventually will, get killed." Mickey cast his eyes down as he said the words, and Rose would've reached over to comfort him if they weren't in the company they were. Outside of the meetings, Rose and Mickey were attached at the hip. But in the meetings, they were hardly even friends.

"Mickey, we're all here because we've lost someone. You lost your grandmother, I lost my mother... But that's why we're here. So they didn't die in vain. They died for something, and I'll tell you what it is. They died for a revolution, and god dammit, we're going to give it to them," Harriet told Mickey, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And, regardless of what way we do it, we're doing it together. Not one of us gets left behind. We're all that's left. We're the only hope that people have."

Rose's eyes skimmed the room, and everyone seemed to be a little out of it. Martha was thinking of her cousin, Jack was thinking about his friends that were killed in front of him, and Rose thought about these people, these wonderful people, who had to lose something to realize they were willing to fight.

"So, what are we going to do?" Rose finally asked, speaking up for the first time this meeting. Her voice was low and grim, but firm. "We're the all-mighty Resistance, and all we've done is get people killed. What's our plan?" All eyes turned to her, wide and questioning, but Rose ignored them. The Resistance was so strong, yet why hasn't anything changed yet? Why was Rose still on the brink of death?

"We're going to meet up tomorrow, near the market, in the little, vacant home two to the right. Do you know where?" Harriet asked, and everyone nodded. Very few homes were vacant, and the ones that were became very well-known in the community. Usually, they were where the Resistance had meetings, and they always changed places to avoid being caught. "Good. We're going to discuss this more, and try to recruit more people. The bigger the Resistance, the more chances we stand. And, then, we're going to try and overthrow the throne. And, before you say it, no, we will not kill them. Not at first. But we can work out the details later. For now, go home, get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." And, with that, everyone rose from where they were and left the little dwelling. Rose got up a little slower, however, because she, at the moment, was the least healthy of them all and couldn't stand without almost tipping over.

"Need some help?" Donna asked, her grandfather by her side. Rose smiled as best she could and shook her head. "Nah, I've got it. I'm just a little tired, that's all. Didn't sleep too well last night." Rule number two of the Resistance: don't let the group know how close they are to death, because they will put themselves in deaths way to make sure they're okay. And neither of them were willing to let that happen, because, for almost everyone, these people were each others family.

"Rose, you're skinny as a twig. No, you were skinny as a twig before, now you're not even skinny. You're just bones and skin. Come over, we can make you some soup," Donna said, her voice soft and welcoming.

"No, really, I'm fine. Don't you two worry about me, honestly. Again, I haven't been sleepin' too well, but besides that, I'm perfectly fine," she assured them, trying to keep her body from wobbling over. Donna opened her mouth to protest, but Wilf shook his head at her, so she said goodbye and they both left. Rose sighed a breath of relief, and began to take the incredibly hazy walk back to where she lived; a small, hut-like home that she could barely fit in, let alone live in. But, despite all the fuzz going on in her mind, Rose did notice how lovely the stars looked that evening. Even though it was smolderingly hot, the way the skies looked made it look chilly, and it made Rose smile a bit. It was always so bright, even in total darkness.

The dirt roads were lined with hut-like houses like her own, none much bigger than hers. Most of them were pre-made and had been there for ages. Usually, one family would die out, and another one would move in. Sometimes, more than eight people would live in one of these things, and half of that family would jump to the first vacancy that opened up. Housing wasn't free, though. Tax collectors came through to every single one, popping in unexpectedly and demanding payment. If you didn't find some way to scrap up enough, they'd give you a few days, and then drag you into the square and kill you. Just like Rose's mother.

But the one thing no one could ever take away was the stars, because those were the things that belonged to no one. The only thing no one had the power to rob of her.

Rose stopped just outside her home to look at the sky. The moon was exceptionally bright that evening, and it make her skin look like it was glowing. Hushed voices echoed throughout her street, but she didn't even attempt to make out what they were saying. But her best guess was that the discussions were about how to keep their children alive, or how to keep from getting executed because they didn't have enough to pay the tax, or how they were going to be able to support themselves once they've lost their jobs. All the changes and all the despair, it was all so near it was tangible. She wondered if she would be next on the execution list. There was no way she would be able to find enough to pay it. As she slipped into her home and lay on the bed made of scrap cloth and whatever soft material she could find, the awkward bony angles of her body becoming painful, she hoped for nothing but for the world to just disappear. Maybe her with it.

Rose didn't sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**A quick A/N: Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback. It means so much to me, you have no idea. Enjoy chapter two!**

* * *

_People like to say that conflict is between good and evil. The real conflict is between truth and lies._  
_-Miguel Angel Ruiz_

* * *

Chapter Two

He didn't really have a name.

Well, he did, but he could never tell anyone, because it was something only his family and incredibly high officials allowed to know. Some weird tradition no one had the power to interfere with. Not even his servants knew his real name. Therefore, he had to go by something other people could call him, because _sir_ and _your highness_ really drove him mad after a while.

So, when he was only three years old, he settled on John. It was common enough so he felt like a normal person, as well as easy to remember. And he became John.

John was calm, collected, and had a level head. John never argued with his parents about how they were running the kingdom. John didn't complain when his parents dragged him halfway across the world to visit cruel people who discussed thinning the population of the kingdom with his parents. John was a character, and John wasn't _him_. No, in reality, he was angry, absolutely furious and eccentric and all over the place. He wanted to scream at his parents for the executions that went on, and never wanted to go to those horrible and inhumane meetings. The real him wasn't John. He was John to everyone else, but to himself, he was called the Doctor. Because he wanted to fix things and heal things. He would never think of himself as John, because John was a character. He constantly convinced himself of that. This horrible person who did nothing but watch, was just a character.

He sat across from his mother, not really paying attention to what she was saying, spaced out in his own world. He only snapped out of it when she called his name, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Oh, yes?" he replied, earning a sharp glare from his mother, and pitiful glances from both his father and his brother.

"You know how I hate repeating myself. I asked how you were enjoying your meal," his mother told him, her tone hard as she gestured to his untouched platter of food with her silver fork. He looked down, brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what it was, but it looked to be some sort of cheese, bread, and meat pastry.

"Right, yes. It's good, thank you," he said, taking a bite and discovering that, in fact, it was not good. His mother looked satisfied and turned back to her own meal.

"Your brother is going into the village tomorrow," she announced after a few moments of silence.

"Is he, now," the Doctor mused. His brother went into the village a lot, to get a feel of the place, so this news was nothing that surprised him.

"I am. And I would like to know if you wanted to come with," his brother said, nonchalantly, as if it was something common. However, it was far from that. His brother had never asked the Doctor to go with him, and the fact that he just had made him both surprised and suspicious.

"Why?" he asked, not looking up from his place.

"Because mother was talking about how you felt about the people. Tomorrow, we're going to try to find the Uprising, and I want to show to you just how awful these people are." The Doctor looked up this time at the mention of the Uprising. It wasn't a word he heard a lot, and he usually heard it when he was eavesdropping. He knew that his 'Uprising' was a big deal, because they had organized robberies, escapes and even assassination plans (which they'd never followed through with). From what he'd heard, they were doing inhumane things, like murdering people for agreeing with his parents' decisions and kidnapping people and forcing them to join the group. But that wasn't the biggest fear his family had. They were rebelling. Maybe a pretty pathetic attempt, but it was still _an_ attempt nonetheless. And anything that posed the slightest threat, had to be eliminated. For as long as he could remember, the Uprising was the one thing his family had to bring down. "We have a really good lead, and we think we've found some of them. We're going out and we're finally going to give them what they deserve."

The excitement in his brother's voice scared the Doctor.

"How do you know that these people are as bad as you say they are? I mean, is it really that... punishable?" he asked, and his brother burst out laughing, earning disapproving looks from his mother and father. After a few moments, he regained composure, apologizing for his outburst.

"Well, let me tell you about _these people_. For one, they completely disregard everything we give to them," he said, hitting his fist on the table for emphasis, "and hop from vacant house to vacant house to avoid paying their taxes. They steal food from people who work hard for it. Bunch of fat lards, I bet they are. Always hoarding and never sharing. And, on top of that, they want to kill our entire family. What do you think about them now?" His brother's rhetorical question rang through his ears as he sat back, defeated. Maybe this Uprising was just as bad as his family advertised. Maybe they did all those things and more.

"Who do you think you've found?" the Doctor said. Surely, they wouldn't have an attack plan unless they've completely covered who they were attacking.

"Well, we have this younger boy, maybe in his twenties. He's been seen sneaking around, from what I've heard, and entering various vacant houses. There's also this older woman, who we've seen quite a few times. She publicly speaks about rebellion and always escapes in time. And yesterday, I got report of a skinny blonde girl walking out of a vacant house after dark, which is something only people in the Uprising do." The Doctor listen closely, trying to picture every person his brother mentioned.

"But that's only three people," the Doctor pointed out. Again, his brother smiled, a little evilly if he did say so himself.

"Yes. But these people travel in packs, you see. We've executed their people before, and usually we get more than one in because they don't like to watch their _brethren_ get killed. We've narrowed the group down, and there can't be many of them left. If we can catch those three, surely more will chase after, and we can get them. We can eliminate the Uprising." His gut sank at them mention of executions. No matter how horrible these people were, an execution always seemed a little harsh.

"I'd like to go with you, tomorrow," the Doctor decided, setting his fork on his plate, unable to eat the monstrosity that his parents called a meal any longer. He did want to see the village and see how people got around, but part of him also wanted to prove himself wrong. That these people _were_ terrible, and that they possibly deserved these executions.

"Excellent."

"But what about the other people?" he asked after another few moments of silence. "The ones who aren't in the Uprising. What about them?" His brother scoffed at the question.

"Really, they're all horrible. Almost a lesser species, to be honest. Completely animalistic. If we aren't strict on them, then they'll do whatever they want. Probably resort to cannibalism. It's a good thing we don't execute them for all the things we should. In my opinion, they need heavier punishment. All of them. They shouldn't be able to get away with half of the things that they get away with," he replied, shooting his parents a look. They shook it off, though, and continued eating their so-called meal.

"What do they do that's so bad?" the Doctor wanted to know. He didn't quite believe his brother. He'd only been out to the village a few times, and from what he saw, these people were poverty-ridden and the ones at fault were his parents for not doing anything. His brother chuckled sarcastically.

"You need to get out more," he said, before they dropped the conversation and let it die out. Silence fell in the dining room, as it usually did around this time. The Doctor fiddled with his fork, earning another disapproving glare from his mother.

By the end of the meal, the Doctor found himself even more curious about the outside than ever. More importantly, the Uprising. The thought that maybe they were the reason for the people starving made him feel a little less guilty, that possibly his family had less blame on them. But deep down, he knew it was about them. He thought back to the most recent time he went to the village, remembering the dirt roads and the heartbreaking condition of the people and that sinking feeling he got every time he made eye contact with one of them. He remembered that there was an execution that day, and how his mother and father had sentenced eleven people to die all in one day. He couldn't bring himself to look for too long, but he recalled a large group of people gathering mournfully in the square, seeing a man hug a young girl, a screaming child who couldn't have been more than six, a woman in her forties looking desperate for an escape. By the time he heard the gunshot go off, he was already far away. He couldn't imagine what terrible things these people must've done to earn a death sentence, and, to be honest, he didn't want to.

Then there was that sinking feeling again, almost a burning now. A need to do something that he couldn't. A need to convince himself that this wasn't as inhumane as it was. He felt like he was being torn right down the middle, half of him yearning to do something; and the other half remaining idle, a bystander, with no voice and no way to help. A half of him that believed his brother and his parents, that the people were terrible and, to quote his brother, animalistic; and a half of him that remembered the helplessness and downright nauseating cruelty he'd seen that day of the executions.

He went to sleep that night, conflicted and exhausted, unknowing of what he would do the next day when he had to face that all again. If he would stop standing still or live up to the name Doctor and fix something.


End file.
